


Collared

by Menirva



Series: Blend [2]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Collars, D/s, Grown men being little shits, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 'Straws'</p><p>John is starting to learn to express exactly what he wants with his lovers, but he still isn't sure how to tell them about one thing he'd like to explore.</p><p>Much to the surprise of no one they figure it out anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It isn’t that he’s SHY about it, per say. He’s not some rookie at this sort of shit anymore. He’s getting pretty damn comfortable exploring with them, and he probably has more kinks under his belt now than most people would develop in a lifetime. Not that he’s necessarily PROUD of that.

Ok, maybe just a little.

It’s just that it’s usually Bane and Barsad introducing different things to him, asking what he feels comfortable with, and explaining how different things work. He just isn’t exactly sure how to bring something up to _them_ that he might like to try out.

The idea had been planted innocently enough—no, no, there was nothing innocent about being in bed with his lovers and having Bane edging him for the better part of an hour, holding him spread open and slowly sliding his tongue into his already wet and well-tongued opening, making him want to scream in frustration but not daring.

_Bane had wrestled Barsad into submission, no small feat when he was having a particularly rough day. They were both on their backs, now, side by side, just how Bane liked to have them when they played if they weren’t tied together, their ankles tied to their thighs in what he vaguely remembered Barsad had called a frog tie or something else silly like that.  He liked that it was tight, constricting enough to let him get into a good headspace with his wrists tied behind his back, but he was still mobile, could wriggle and writhe back at Bane as he had tormented them._

_Bane had been teasing them both, trying to drag noises out of them. That was the name of the game.  Whenever one made a sound, he would switch to the other and leave the first one whimpering at the loss of his mouth, his fingers. John had been biting his lip, trying to smother back even a peep, feeling so fucking close, wondering if he could come just from the feeling of Bane’s lips against the hypersensitive skin there, from his tongue licking into him again and again. The trembling in his thighs, the swelling of his cock so that it was flush against his belly and leaking enthusiastically, was hinting towards a yes._

_A heartbroken whimper wrenched from his throat when Bane had pulled back from him, letting go of his ass._

_“I didn’t, I didn’t make any noise,” he promised, sounding slurred and nearly incoherent, sucking in a breath and letting his mouth drop open when Bane carefully guided him onto his belly, his cock brushing against the warmed sheets._

_“You didn’t, until then,” Bane pointed out cruelly, and John bit down into the bedding in frustration, feeling him leaving, turning Barsad with him and then hearing Barsad’s breathing quicken. He turned his head so he could see his eyes clenched tightly closed, his mouth pressed into a tight line in an effort to keep quiet._

_Thank God that Barsad tied was much less capable of being quiet than Barsad stubborn. He was too open and receptive for Bane, and soon he was whining, trying to grind his hips back as much as he could._

_John almost fucking lost again right away when Bane’s cock was suddenly against his ass, the length of it sliding slowly between his cheeks, against his opening and making him shiver in want, hips arching up hopefully. He barely held back a yelp at the sharp, stinging smack on his ass, the way it sent a tingle of heated pleasure through him as Bane continued to thrust against him, slow, unhurried drags as he reached beside him to pick something up._

_That was when he felt the extra coil of rope being looped slowly around his throat. Nothing tight, nothing that cut off his breathing, but it wrapped around him snugly and Bane gave it the lightest of tugs as his other hand curled around John's cock, and then he got to feel embarrassed over just how quickly he came in that hand, a low cry escaping him as he shuddered and felt it pulse out of him, leaving him tingling everywhere from the suddenness, from the relief of it after being held back for so long._

So yeah, maybe he’s been thinking about that rope around his neck a lot after that. Maybe he’s thinking it might be nicer to have something else there, something sturdy that Bane or Barsad can hold onto, pull him around by, something that makes his brain spark happily at the thought of it being placed around his throat and marking him as something Bane owns.

But he really isn’t sure exactly how to tell them that he wants a fucking collar.

It doesn’t really seem like the sort of thing he can just go out and buy, that seems incredibly presumptuous. He can’t even imagine just going out and buying one and handing it to Bane expectantly, even though he can kind of picture Barsad doing it if that’s what he wanted, but in most ways Barsad has always been pretty damn forward about what he wants. Besides, if they were to do that, he’d want to pick it out _with_ them.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t _looking_ , which, incidentally, after some merciless tormenting, is how the entire things work out when it comes out into the open.

John flops wearily into one of the worn, comfortable arm chairs in the living area. The place they’ve been given to live in temporarily is small, cozy. He likes it even though he wouldn’t call it home, but John has learned that home is a lot more than four walls and a roof. It turns out that, for him, it’s two lovers and an intimidating little sister. He likes being there with them, though, even knowing they could be out of it the next day.

They move around a lot, it’s kind of exciting when John is so used to staying in one place. Officially, Bane and Barsad are Talia’s protectors while she travels as an ambassador for the league, securing resources and giving them out to those in need. Bane is most often by her side while Barsad is far off in the distance of wherever an outdoor meeting has been set up, his eye fixed to his scope, or indoors standing quietly in the corner, looking indifferent but his hand never leaving his sidearm.

John is _still_ training. It feels like forever even though it’s only maybe 7 months, and he knows that stuff like this takes a long time to master. Talia takes him along often on meetings, though, has him stand against the wall close to Barsad and observe, asks his thoughts on everyone in the room. It’s a challenge since he usually doesn’t speak the language, something else he’s learning slowly, but he tries for her, feels pride in his chest when she takes in everything he says with a serious, careful consideration.

He hadn’t gone with them today, today he had been training with another group. Bane and Barsad would love to train him to fight, but are busy enough that they can only take on a chunk of it, leaving the rest in league member’s hands.

Their very, very capable, often painful, hands.

Ow.

He wishes the bruises mottling his torso a lovely shade of black and blue were from Bane. They’re just not as fun otherwise. It’s a struggle just to carefully peel his t-shirt off, tossing it across the living room even knowing the scolding he’ll get. He thinks about a nice hot shower along with considering moving to the bed, but then he thinks about just how much effort that would take.

There’s the sound of a key sliding into the lock and he slowly turns his head towards the door. Bane is home and carefully locking the door behind him. It is always locked, even when someone is home, no exceptions; it’s been drilled into his head enough times now that it’s second nature.

When he notices it’s just Bane, he almost laughs at how his stomach rumbles, well trained enough to know that when Barsad and Talia are out later it means they’ve gone to the market together to pick up something fresh to cook for dinner. It feels like he’s going to double in size any day now with how he’s been shoveling down food. Bane tells him it’s normal for training, that he’s putting on muscle. Barsad just tells him he’ll still enjoy him even with a bit of a belly to rub, the jerk.

“Hey, big guy,” he tries not to sound as tired as he is, but clearly it comes through still. Once he has set down his things, Bane’s hand comes to rest on his forehead, stroking over his brow while he looks down at him.

“You are looking worn, and are a fairly different shade of purple since I last saw you this morning.”

“Ha, ha,” he laughs dryly, “at least I’m not a shade of red.”

He yelps slightly at the cuff to the back of his head. The day Bane forgets to wear sunscreen is the day that John will never let him live down even if it means a few smacks to the head. Bane grumbles quietly before he sits down with a grunt onto the other chair, patting his thigh.

“Come here.”

It says a lot about how much pull Bane has, how embarrassingly much John just wants to please him, that he’s up immediately and groaning softly in pain so he can drop down into his lap, sighing at Bane’s arms wrapping around him, a kiss being pressed to his forehead.

“You have been working very hard,” Bane says in approval, and John lets himself settle in more, feeling ridiculously glowy at the praise. He knows he eats it up from any of them, and it’s mortifying to know that they know it, too, but he’s pretty used to not being noticed so, well, it’s just really nice.

“Thanks,” he moans out softly in appreciation when Bane’s hands skim down his back, working towards his spine with a gentle kneading of his fingers. It feels beyond amazing, the careful pressure working out the tightness there as he nuzzles against Bane’s throat, feeling revived enough to demand a kiss.

It’s given, Bane’s scarred lips pressing tenderly against his own, his tongue dipping out to sweep across the swell of John’s bottom lip before he places another kiss there. His hands run up John’s back to his shoulders, his throat, and Bane’s thumb presses into his collarbone slightly, eliciting a hiss from him when it makes a dull pain throb through him from one of the bruises there, one that was actually left by Bane.

Bane’s fingers end up wrapped slightly around his throat, the space between his forefinger and thumb pressing against his Adam’s apple and it makes him swallow compulsively, go a little limper in his grip from the possessive constriction.

It seems like as good a time as any to maybe start gently hinting. He reaches up and guides Bane’s hands to circle around his neck completely, a quiet moan leaving his throat, his breathing a little shallower.

“I like that,” he manages, even though he’d honestly just like to close his eyes and enjoy it rather than talk about it.

 He sighs when Bane’s thumb strokes over his pulse point. He could crush him right now, one squeeze, he knows just how much strength is in Bane’s hands, and he knows he won’t. He can’t believe how vulnerable he’s willing to be with them sometimes, how they’ve managed to so easily break down all of his carefully constructed defenses to the point where he just wants them to have everything he can give.

A low rumble of amusement leaves Bane’s chest. “I had noticed that, yes, my boy.”

His brain fizzes happily at the words. At first he hadn’t been sure if he should be insulted. He wasn’t a boy and he’d indignantly pointed it out after both of them had used it. Well, he’d tried after he regained a little bit of his wits, which was harder than it sounded when one was tied to the floor and being used how they wanted.

_“You may not be A boy, John, but you are OUR boy,” Barsad had teased as he ran his hands over his flushed skin. “All ours, isn’t that right?”_

_“Y-yes, ok,” he’d whimpered, squirmed sharply on the floor when Barsad’s fingers had twisted at his nipples. They’d made him say it several times, that he was THEIR boy, before they let him come._

Now when it’s said, it just makes him feel good, wanted, and he can even admit a little coddled, but only because he knows they don’t think he’s weak. If they did, they wouldn’t bother training him. It’s a somewhat embarrassing pleasure, and he suspects that it’s how Barsad feels when Bane whispers what a good little lamb he is for him.

He moans softly when Bane’s hands squeeze ever so slightly, breathing becoming quick pants before Bane lets go. John would prefer if he didn’t, sighing when he strokes across his throat. “I just really like it,” he says, not sure how to hint any further than that.

Bane makes an inquisitive noise and slides John up a bit so his lips can press to the tendon of his neck. “Are you perhaps hinting at something?”

“I—maybe,” he gets out after some hesitation.

“We have spoken of this many times, how you need to voice things, too,” Bane reminds him, and he’s right. He has a hard time, a really fucking hard time about _talking_ when it comes to their relationship. He’d rather just let things happen, doesn’t like to put his feelings just out there in the open even though he knows they’re safe with them.

He isn’t sure if he’s grateful or disappointed when the front door unlocks and Talia comes inside with Barsad, each carrying a small canvas bag of groceries. It’s enough of a distraction to coax his tired body over to the small kitchen to help grind some of the spices so they can cook, and Bane doesn’t bring it up the rest of the evening, even after a dinner of spicy stew and rice, after they all play a round of darts, a handicap created so that they at least have a chance against Barsad, and when he tucks in with Bane and Barsad that night, too tired to even consider getting up to anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Really, he should have known better, though. Bane wouldn’t have been a very good bodyguard if he didn’t know how to read people, too, and he suspects that he at least has an inkling of what John would like. But the bastard won’t say it, won’t bring it up.

He just keeps wrapping his big warm hands around John’s throat every opportunity he gets, holding him still and making him feel owned. It makes blood rush to his cock every time without fail, even when he’s far too tired to actually do anything about it.  It’s absolutely worse that Barsad seems to be in on it, as well. Those slender fingers wrapping around his throat are every bit as claiming, as deadly, and send just as much of a shudder of desire through him. 

It’s late evening now, after Talia has gone to bed, and John has been bound up for the better part of it. Nothing complicated, but he’s been having a rough week, a frustrating week where he feels like he just isn’t getting better no matter how hard he trains, and he knows he’s reaching a snapping point.

Bane knows it, too, and pushed him down onto his knees on the carpet as soon as he came home, ordered him to keep his arms at his sides as he bound them to his waist then pulled him into his lap while Barsad knelt down and did the same to his ankles. Talia was there for it, tousled his hair when he made a disgruntled noise, and she sat down to read quietly beside them as he got laid out in their laps.

Now he’s feeling mellowed out, has felt Barsad stroking through his hair for hours, alternating between teasing him playfully and helping him practice his Arabic, giving his cock a playful fondle through his pants when he’s doing exceptionally well, pinching at the cloth and making him hiss and squirm when he fucks up a question. John will admit that it’s a hell of a way to make a lesson stick.

Barsad finally seems to have deemed him as having studied enough for the night, and he pulls him up in his lap to sit, nuzzles the back of his neck. "How tired are you?" he asks with a bit of a bite to the back of his neck. Bane's hands are sliding under his pant legs, rubbing against his ankles, and he's happy that for once the answer isn't 'fucking exhausted.' He's been missing out lately, and he knows even though they wouldn't ever complain about it that they've been missing him.

"I'm good, really good," he promises, "the uhm, study session helped."

"Good," is Barsad's only response before he presses his lips to the side of his neck and makes John shiver at the rough, wet suction against his skin. He feels a bit thick when he doesn't get what they're up to at first. He just knows he loves it, how Bane takes him next, and his crooked teeth scrape across his throat before he bites there lightly, sucks his own mark onto his skin, making it tingle.

By the time they've carried him to the bedroom, managed to strip him while he's still in his ties, a feat that has always impressed him, his neck is red and raw feeling. He whines and thrashes when Barsad drags his nails over it anyway, followed by a brush of his thumb tenderly over it in a mock apology.

He makes a mental note to return the favor next time it's just Barsad bound up.

He still doesn't get it until after, after Bane sucks him into his mouth, slurps luridly around him and plays with his cock until he's a tightly tied-up ball of want, begging even while he's being allowed to come in his mouth, after Barsad has flipped him over onto his belly and fucks into him so fast and rough that it knocks the air from his lungs, after Bane slides into his mouth and orders him to lick, which he does happily in a daze, curling into the petting down his back, his thighs, savoring the bitter salt of Bane dripping along his tongue. It's later, after Bane unties him with a fond pat to his cheek and he insists with only a slight mumble to his tone and a wobble to his steps that he can walk, that he looks in the bathroom mirror and sees the dark purple and red mottling in a perfect ring around his throat.

Oh, fuck. It makes him draw in a breath sharply, mesmerized by it, the stark contrast against his skin, how he can feel it, sharp and inflamed and knows he'll still feel it under his coat tomorrow when they go out, feels his skin heat up in mortification at just how obvious it will be when he has to strip down to nothing but his pants for his sparring lessons. Oh, God. He scolds his tired dick for daring to twitch at the idea. Traitor.

When he's finally done twisting this way and that in the mirror to see every bit of it, he walks shakily back to bed, snorting at the smug look in Barsad's eyes and Bane's amusement on his face when he reaches for him and draws him down onto the bed.

"Should we talk about this?" Bane asks, and his words brush across his raw skin. 

John shakes his head quickly. "Too tired."

"Convenient," Barsad says as he lies against Bane's chest with him, but he kisses him all the same before they sleep.

The next day, he comes home and starts researching. Bane only chuckles in approval when he looks over his shoulder as he sits on a stool at the counter. He presses a kiss to the rather spectacularly purple ring around his throat."I'm glad you chose to take the initiative."

"Yeah, I uh," he clears his throat slightly, feeling stupid over sounding shy about asking, "did you want to help?"

Bane's hands slide over his shoulders and a dull ache runs through his body when they circle around his throat, squeezing lightly and filling him with warmth. "Do you truly understand what you want with this, what you are asking of me?"

"Technically, I'm not asking at all," he points out, and Bane's rumble of amusement makes a smile tug at his lips.

"You will ask."

He swallows hard when Bane lets go of him. "Will you do it, please?" He hates the slight worry in his gut even knowing Bane has always taken care of him in the ways that John actually wants, and he doubts that this will be the exception.Bane holds his shoulders, turns him in the stool and tilts his chin up so he's looking into his eyes steadily. He hates when he does that, honestly. Even though John loves attention, it's too much focus. It feels like he’s being studied, judged, and he knows he is, actually, but he has to remind himself that it’s not the same, not the same at all as the way his teachers used to do it, his foster parents; Bane isn’t deeming whether he should be given up on or let go, he’s just evaluating.

“A collar is a very serious thing, John. It’s a symbol of dedication, that you wish to be owned by me, even when you are not wearing it.”Bane let go of his chin to let him speak and he nodded slowly, made himself keep his gaze. 

“I know. I—well, I sort of read up on it. I know what it means and, fuck it,” he breaks eye contact and mumbles out the rest in a rush, “that stuff is all true even without a collar, ok? We all know that.”

He feels Bane thumb over his bottom lip affectionately and sighs, lets himself get wrapped up in a hug for a moment even though he’s leery about being touched after the outburst. His face ends up against Bane’s chest and he breathes in slowly, taking in the spicy sandalwood cologne he’s come to recognize as part of Bane, feels his fingers thread through his hair and rub against his scalp soothingly.

“Maybe if you do it, I won’t feel like such a two-year-old about my emotions.”

“You always manage to get them out eventually,” Bane assures him quietly, places a kiss to the top of his head. “If that is something you do not like about yourself, it can be worked on, but it is not a burden to us.”

He can’t help but grin against his shirt a bit. “I still have Barsad beat.”

“I would say that you perhaps tie in your ways of both stubbornness and repression,” Bane muses and John snorts, shoves at him.

“No way, he’s way worse than me. Fuck, I’d love to see him in a collar…” The sentence dies on his lips because he’s imagining it then, and it’s not at all a joke, anymore. He glances up at Bane and he can see the sudden desire there, too.

“Do you think—”

Bane shakes his head quickly. “I highly doubt it is something he would ever agree on.”

“Don’t think I don’t know you two. It’s not something he has to agree on. It’s just something he has to not say no to.”

Bane’s lips curve with amusement and he kisses his brow. “This is about you, John. I would not wish to take something you desire, something special for you, and make it about you both if you would like it to be only for you.”

He stops and thinks about it carefully because he really isn’t sure, at first. He does at times love when it’s just him tied up and them focusing on him. He’s more than happy to submit to Barsad, too, and when they’re in that sort of dynamic, he feels just as compelled to obey him, can imagine that collar being just as much from him as from Bane. But, the best times, his favorite times, are when it’s him and Barsad submitting together, when they’re on that same level and in the same obedient head space, when Bane ties them together and they kiss and just feel each other and him for hours. 

That’s what feels perfect, and that’s what he wants.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

“Both,” he says finally, resolutely so that Bane doesn’t doubt. “If he doesn’t say no,” he makes sure to add. If Barsad says no, obviously it’ll be just him, but he really hopes that’s not the case.

“Very well. We’ll pick them out for both of you,” Bane says as his fingers run along the bruises on John’s throat gently. “The time to arrive will give this time to heal, and then it can replace it.”

He shivers slightly before he clears his throat and turns back around on the stool so they can look. “Shouldn’t Barsad have a say in his?”

“Barsad is different about such things. If he is not saying no, then he prefers me to do whatever I wish. It’s why sometimes I let you pick the ties but I never give him the same option. It is why I must wrestle him each time before I can bind him.”

“He can’t have a choice in it. It has to be all from you,” John says in understanding, “and he trusts you enough to know what he’ll like, as well.” That’s fine. He wouldn’t mind helping to pick something out for Barsad, too. That’s what they spend the rest of the time before Barsad and Talia arrive home with dinner doing. Bane insists on paying for the expenditure and John lets him when he explains that if it’s a collar that shows he is owned by Bane then it should definitely come from Bane completely, not from the money that John has been given for what he’s joking called ‘a paid internship with ninjas’.

He tries not to think about it while they wait for their arrival. Barsad doesn’t suspect anything, thinks they’re just getting one for John and teases him about it, whispers luridly in his ear how good he thinks he’ll look in it and nothing else, how he’ll love tugging him around by it and asking if they should get him a leash to go with it. It’s a terrible temptation to tell Barsad that maybe he should get two, but he bites it back, can’t deny how hot the filthy whispers get him anyway and he’s sure that, just like the ropes, there will be times when it’s just him wearing it and Barsad will get to do whatever he wants with that.

He’s more than ok with it.

The day Bane brings the box home with him from the post office, Talia has mysteriously vanished. He doesn’t dare ask Bane what he told her, mostly because he has the sneaking suspicion that he merely told her everything. Her knowing about the ropes is quite enough, he doesn’t have to know if she knows about this, and frankly he really doesn’t want to. He just appreciates that she’s apparently stepped out for the evening.

He’s tired, but as luck would have it, it’s been a lighter day of training, more him scanning crowds and pointing out everything suspicious that he can as fast as he can. Being timed is its own kind of stress, but he doesn’t feel about to fall over the way he does after sparring all day. The box stays on the counter as they eat the leftovers of the meal from the evening before. Barsad winks and runs his finger over it playfully as he sips his cup of tea. John almost feels bad that he has no idea.

Almost.

“Go clean up, both of you,” Bane tells them once dinner if finished. He nods quickly, more than happy to go scrub off the sweat and dirt of the day. He laughs softly when Barsad slips into the shower with him near the end of it. They share playful kisses and Barsad ‘helpfully’ makes sure every inch of him is clean before slapping a wet hand sharply over his ass, telling him to shove off so he can finish his.

When he steps back out into the living room, toweled off and in a pair of loose cotton pants, he stops and sees how Bane has wisely pulled the coffee table out of the way already and pushed it against the wall so the living room floor is opened up. It’s something that he and Barsad come home to sometimes when Bane leaves them early. It’s a warning sign to Barsad, and usually he tenses in the doorway when it happens. John is always quick to shut the door behind them so he doesn’t bolt, not that he really thinks he will, but Barsad becomes all animal when his fight or flight responses kick in, and he has a feeling that Bane will just chase him down the hall and carry him back bodily, anyway.

On the pushed-back table, the cardboard package has been opened, and side by side on the table are two smaller boxes, the kind one might expect to find nice jewelry in, hinged and heavy and probably lined with velvet. John can easily imagine what lies inside. He wants to peek, but Bane shakes his head when he walks towards them and so he resists, waiting for Barsad to join them, instead.

He walks out casually, unsuspecting, and bare-chested like John, his hands tousling through his own damp hair to encourage it to dry. It only takes him a moment, though, he’s too clever for it not to. His eyes immediately go from Bane to the coffee table, noting its movement, and after a moment the not one but two boxes on it.

It makes him go rigid instantly, shocked.

“How _dare_ you,” he seethes through clenched teeth and equally clenched fists. “I will _never_ wear such a thing.”

Bane leans against the wall, his arms are folded and it is obvious he is watching every movement in Barsad’s body even as he looks casual, calm, firm. “Then tell me no.”

“If you think I will EVER let you put that around my throat you are a _fool_.”

It’s not a no, and John knows it, Bane knows it. The sudden smirk on his face is evidence enough, and it seems to enrage Barsad when he sees it there. John quite quickly makes his way behind the kitchen counter. It’s usually the safest place to be when the first blow lands.

Usually, Bane has to be closer for Barsad to feel threatened enough to attack, but not this time. This time it’s Barsad who fairly springs forward, launches himself at Bane with his hands curled into fists. John thinks he’s going to get the first punch in with Bane still against the wall and looking calm, but Bane has always been faster than seems possible for his mass. A quick twist has him out of harm’s way, has Barsad grunting out in pain when his fist goes into the plaster, crunching through it loudly.

Bane’s hand darts out, grips the back of Barsad’s neck and with a growl he’s yanking him back, shoving him onto the floor where he lands gracelessly. If Bane is fast, though, Barsad is faster, especially when it comes to recovering. He sweeps his leg out, foot kicking viciously into the vulnerable back of Bane’s knee, making him fall with him.

After that it gets _really_ brutal. John almost doesn’t want to watch because he’s seen them spar, seen them wrestle over the ropes countless times, but this, this just has a tone to it that’s darker. What is coming from Barsad feels like it’s tinged with _desperation,_ like he’d tear Bane apart if he had the chance. When Barsad’s knee crushes down into Bane’s chest John is sure something breaks, knows from training that Barsad has to have at least cracked a rib, possibly two, and Barsad struggles to stand after that, limbs shaking but triumph written on his face.

It doesn’t last long. Bane might be injured, but it’s not enough, maybe he even let it happen to get Barsad vulnerable enough to let his guard down more.

 

John’s hands grip the counter ledge and he jumps when Bane’s fist slams into Barsad’s face. He can hear the sick snap it makes and sees the blood spraying out on the carpet from Barsad’s nose, his upper lip split open and bleeding with it.

The pain and blood-rush disorient Barsad, and it’s enough. Enough that Barsad is on his back, and Bane is over him, pinning his body to the ground with his weight, his wrists to the floor. It gets an enraged cry from Barsad, and if it weren’t so serious, John would accuse him of having a tantrum at the way he thrashes, even more than usual, like he’s something else entirely, completely wild.

It doesn’t deter Bane at all. He knows he’s won now, and he’s patient about it. He waits for Barsad to use up the worst of his energy, until he’s heaving under him, his face bloodied. He flinches back when Bane presses their foreheads tightly together, breathing heavily with Barsad even as he starts to work to soothe him.

“You fought so well for me,” he praises quietly, meaning it, the pride clear in his tone. Barsad shakes his head and Bane nods.

“You did. I am so proud of you, how strong you are for me. No one could best you but me.”

He hushes the whine building up in Barsad’s throat. “Shh, I have you, now. Mine.” He whispers the words, but they’re firm, demanding, and Barsad’s body arches instinctively up towards Bane as he says them, as though he needs his touch.

“Say it.”

Barsad’s lip is still bleeding, but he bites into it anyway, sounding choked as he makes a noise of refusal. John shivers when Bane _snarls_ suddenly and Barsad goes tight under him.

“You are _mine_. I do not need ropes to make you obey me. I have bested you, pinned you, and will collar you, put MY ownership around your throat and I will not let you go until you say it, accept it.”

John wonders if he even _can._ He thinks they all might be wondering the same thing. Barsad is shaking his head violently under Bane as the blood drips from his nose and mouth, as his heavy gasps for air make it spray lightly against Bane who doesn’t budge, whose hands never loosen their tight pin.

“I can’t, I CAN’T!” Barsad bucks up and growls in frustration.

“Then tell me no or break free, because there is nothing else that will make me let go,” Bane promises, and John believes it, can see that Barsad is finally believing it, that it’s sinking in, that Bane has tied him up and bound him without a single rope.

When it truly sinks in, just how much Bane has trapped him, it makes him break just as much as the ties.

“Yours!” He chokes it out, all twisted up and bitter in his throat.

Bane kisses tenderly over his mouth, blood slicking over his lips. “Say it,” he says softly, firmly, and John knows what he wants. Barsad does, too, and it’s a new struggle, one that has him thrashing again, though not able to move any better than before. Bane is just as patient for it, and Barsad knows it, knows he’s lost any sort of battle between him and Bane that night.

It still takes so much for him to stutter it out, his fingers restlessly flexing. “Y-your lamb. I’m your little l-lamb.”

“Good, good lamb,” Bane praises gently, and Barsad is practically limp against the carpet, panting still when Bane lets him go.

“A towel, please, John,” Bane orders as he coaxes Barsad up to kneel. “I’ll need to set his nose.”

“Christ,” John feels a bit shaky, used to violence now and even between them, but not quite to the level it’s been taken to tonight. When he brings the towel, Bane has Barsad blow the blood from his nose into it, has him take a deep breath and rights his nose with a sharp, precise pull that makes Barsad whimper in pain, a noise John is sure he wouldn’t hear if Bane hadn’t broken him down into submission. Now Bane kisses his cheek, wipes his face clean tenderly and whispers against his ear.

“Are you ready?”


	4. Chapter 4

He’s surprised when Barsad nods, that it isn’t a fresh struggle, but he stays kneeling. Bane stands slowly, carefully, from what has to be a fair bit of pain in his chest, wiping the blood from his own face before he points to the floor.

“Beside him, my boy.”

He nods quickly, trying not to feel nervous when he goes over to kneel beside Barsad, letting his knees sink into the soft carpeting. He glances over warily, not used to Barsad staying submissive without being bound, but his eyes are open wide as he stares at the ground, his body shaking lightly. He looks lost, and John feels sympathy for that.

“Hey,” he brushes his fingers against the back of Barsad’s hand. He doesn’t startle, but he eyes flick over to him. “Bane’s got you. We’ve got you,” he promises, and when he slides his hand into his it’s gripped tightly, almost enough to make his hand ache.

He looks up at Bane, relieved to see a small smile of approval. The top of his head gets a pat before he goes to the coffee table and picks up the boxes, brings them back and lowers himself slowly to sit on the floor with them, not kneeling, but not above them; John knows enough of them to know it’s done purposefully.

“Good boys,” Bane says softly, and John can feel the shiver through Barsad while he holds his hand, how it steadies when the back of Bane’s fingers trace lovingly across their throats.

“Our John first,” he tells them, and John almost squirms in anticipation, eyes going to the box Bane is opening slowly.

It’s just like they ordered, but it’s still something else to see it right there in front of him, a navy blue leather with black stitching around the edges, a thick silver buckle to keep it in place and a silver ring with a tag dangling down from it. It looks sturdy but comfortable, and Bane holds it closer to let him see, so close he can smell the new leather and make out the name engraved onto the tag.

Robin.

He’d known what was going on there, had protested it a little, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t known his full name. They’d needed all of his information so that they could make him disappear in the system, so to speak and he knew that they had all smiled when they found out, had told him how beautiful and suiting it was for him, much to his mortification. In the end, though, he’d honestly wanted Bane to put whatever he wanted, whatever felt right, onto that tag as long as it wasn’t derogatory, not that he would.

He watches Bane unbuckle it, closing his eyes when he feels the leather slowly wrapping around his neck, not too tight, Bane’s fingers sliding under it to check before he carefully buckles it into place. John’s breathing quickens, a rush of desire, of feeling owned and in his proper place, sweeps through him. It’s the same feelings the ropes give him, a steady calm, a deep want to be good, to just be good for Bane.

He sighs when Bane’s warm hands cup his cheek. He dips into the steady hold, a hazy smile tugging at the corners of his lips when Bane’s scarred lips press against his forehead tenderly, when his hair is pet through for a few moments, soothing him down more.

“My good boy,” the words brush against his skin and he nods quickly, eagerly.

“Yours.”

It gets a soft, affectionate chuckle before he’s let go carefully, but not too fast, a gentle pat to his cheek promising more soon. He blinks his eyes open slowly because he knows he’ll want to see what’s happening next.

Barsad’s been watching him, his eyes clouded with uncertainty, like he’s still lost and needs an anchor. John knows he’ll be ok, though, that Bane will help fix it. Their eyes go to him when he opens the second box. It’s much like the first, nearly identical in design. This one, though, is in a deep red, just a little thicker, just a little sturdier, something to help Barsad understand that it’s secure enough to hold him. His breathing becomes shallow through his lips when he sees it, close enough to see the small tag hanging down from his.

Lamb.

It makes his tongue lick out over his swollen upper lip nervously.

“Be still,” Bane orders firmly, his hand going to Barsad’s shoulder when it’s clear he’s struggling inside. John grips his hand tightly, not to keep him in place, that’s Bane’s job, but to let him know he’s there for him.

“You can still tell me no,” Bane reminds him gently. “It all stops if you say no.”

Barsad bites sharply into his lip, drawing fresh blood, and John thinks he might at first, that this might finally be too much for him, too much submission and giving himself over, but even with his labored breathing he says nothing, his hand tightens his grip on John’s fingers, and when Bane’s fingers trace over his throat it draws the softest of whines from it.

Bane uses the same carefulness to fasten Barsad’s collar around his neck, and Barsad goes completely still at the feel of the leather against his skin, stops breathing even as Bane’s fingers work to fasten it, securely buckling it into its place around Barsad’s throat.

A choked noise leaves Barsad’s chest, and Bane wraps his arms around him, holds him steady and presses kisses across Barsad’s damp eyelashes that are more gentle than seems possible after all of the violence of earlier.

“My lamb.”

It gets a tiny nod and Barsad practically slumps into Bane’s arms, giving himself over to be stroked warmly, Bane’s noise of approval only making him burrow deeper. It draws a slight wince from Bane but he keeps him against him, pats his back until he pulls him back and pats his cheek.

“So much fight in you.”

It earns a small, pained laugh and Barsad looks lighter, like he does when they’re roped together. John has to smile when he sees that, squeezes the hand he’s still holding to gain Barsad’s attention before he leans in, wanting to kiss him like he always does when they’re together in this. Barsad’s lip feels so swollen against his. He dabs his tongue over the cut gently and the tang of copper coats it. Barsad whimpers into his mouth and he responds by pushing past his lips with his tongue seeking out Barsad’s to play with, feeling it stroking across his own in return.

He can feel Bane watching them, sighs against Barsad’s mouth at the approving pet through his hair, down the back of his neck, knowing Barsad is getting the same.

“You always look beautiful together, but especially so like this,” he tells them, lets them keep kissing at each other for a bit, relaxing and comforting each other.

It lets him drift down more, makes the air feel thicker, like he can feel it heavy against his skin, like he’s warm and safe and wants whatever Bane wants from him which right now he knows is to play with Barsad. He presses the gentlest kiss he can, the barest brush of lips to the bridge of Barsad’s nose, feeling sympathy over the deep purple there already. He can hear movement, Bane opening cabinets, but he keeps his focus where he knows Bane will want it.

He feels Bane’s finger curl under the back of his collar and give a light tug. It makes him gasp, his entire body feeling pulled along, his toes curling with pleasure at such a simple gesture. He cranes his head up and gazes contently up into Bane’s eyes, feeling his thumb circle across his lips, smiling against it at the soft ‘good boy’ he receives.

Bane has pulled them apart so he can coax some pills into Barsad, something to keep his nose from swelling too terribly. When Bane tells him to open, his mouth pops open without hesitation, though John knows he hates taking medication. He lets Bane slide a pair of blue pills into his mouth, swallows them down obediently with a gulp of water from a cup Bane puts to his lips. John’s glad to know Bane has taken the same for himself, that there’s two icepacks there for them.

When Barsad finishes the water, he leans into Bane’s stroke through his hair, sighs at the soft ruffle through it. His fingers stroke down his cheek then hook under Barsad’s collar, giving it a slow pull forward that has Barsad whining softly, moving forward with Bane’s pull until his hands drop down, fingers sinking into the thick carpet. Bane pats his back and reaches for John, pulling him forward onto his hands and knees in the same manner, gentle but firm.

“Time to take this to the bedroom.”

It’s obvious he doesn’t want them to walk. He glances over at Barsad, thinking about the bullet he’d taken to his knee what feels like forever ago now, but he knows it can sometimes flare up with pain. He jumps at the playful swat across the back of his thighs, the firm squeeze there.

“Worry about yourself, go lie down.” Bane chuckles and John reddens, nodding and feeling the heat in his thighs and his cheeks as he crawls to the bedroom. It’s not exactly a sort of movement he’s used to, but the bedroom isn’t far and he knows that Bane wouldn’t make them do it if he didn’t think Barsad could.

He doesn’t hear Barsad with him, though. When he climbs onto the bed and stretches out on it, he looks through the doorway and can see Bane whispering quietly into Barsad’s ear, having a quiet conversation he has no hope of hearing from there. Whatever it is, it has Barsad nodding finally, and he hesitantly reaches his arms towards Bane. John feels his heart warming a bit when Barsad gets pulled up and into Bane’s arms, carried into the bedroom with his face tucked as carefully against Bane’s chest as his injury will allow.

He’s embarrassed, clearly, when Bane sets him down, making him recline back against the headboard and placing the icepack to the bridge of his nose carefully, ordering him to hold it there. John climbs over to kiss his cheek, lips getting a chill from the closeness of the ice. He wants to tell him he doesn’t have to be shy about it, that they both know how fucking strong he is, but it’s too hard to try and get the words right, so he lets it go with just the kiss. Bane sits down with them and John picks up the other icepack and holds it out for him, getting a pat before it’s taken and Bane carefully ices down his ribs.

It’s quiet for a bit after that. Bane pulls on his collar, guiding his head into his lap so he can pet him lightly while the ice does its work. Barsad watches them, clearly wishing he could be a part of that but Bane wants him elevated and still while he has the cold pack on his nose. John reaches out instead and catches his foot, rubbing slow circles around his ankle so they can be connected. He watches as Barsad’s eyes drift shut slowly and he breathes carefully through his mouth.

His own eyelids droop a bit. The feeling of Bane’s fingers carding through his hair is hypnotic, and he loves the headspace it puts him in, likes being comfortable and warm with his head in his lap, not minding at all that the stiffness in his pants is being ignored for now. There’s plenty of time for that later if Bane wants to play with him, but if not, that’s ok, too. He’s happy just for this.


	5. Chapter 5

John hums softly at the feeling of Bane’s fingers twisting in his hair, tugging it lightly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, my boy.” Bane thumbs lightly across his cheek, and John’s eyes blink open slowly.

“Wasn’t,” he promises, having to sound too overeager and embarrassingly earnest judging by the amused sparkle in Bane’s eyes. He wasn’t, though, really, and he doesn’t want Bane to think he was trying to nap when Bane wants to play.

“I was just making sure,” Bane assures him before he sets the icepack down. He reaches over and takes Barsad’s, studying his nose carefully before nodding and setting it down.

“Over with us, lamb.”

John’s attention immediately goes from Barsad scooting over to them to the sound of Bane’s zipper being pulled down. Barsad catches it, too, sitting quickly beside them, and John watches as Bane guides himself out. John wants to taste him, being so close already with his head on his thigh. He’s just starting to harden, or maybe he has been since he wrestled Barsad to the ground, knowing both of them, but John wants to slip him into his mouth so he can suck at him until he’s stiff and stretching his lips.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Bane pulls lightly at his collar, easily able to sense his desire.

“Go on, then.”

He makes a grateful noise and moves to the front of Bane so he can dip his head down, wrapping his hand around the base of his shaft and holding him so he can lick over him contently. Bane’s low moan of pleasure sends a tingle down his spine, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Barsad tries to scoot closer so he can lick with him, but Bane’s hand goes to his collar, holding him back.

“Not this time, lamb. I don’t want you to risk jarring your nose in your enthusiasm, and you need your mouth clear to breathe.”

Barsad makes a whimper in protest, clearly not agreeing, not worrying about breathing through his nose if it means he can have Bane’s cock in his mouth. He pulls against Bane’s hold a little until he’s given a firmer tug that settles him. Bane has him lie down where John had just been resting his head, and John gives the sad blue eyes watching him closely an understanding look.

He loses eye contact quickly, though, his focus going back to Bane in his mouth, steadily hardening. He slurps around him wetly, swiping his tongue across the tip of him, teasing at it tucked away and hidden under his foreskin before he slides it back carefully, rolling his tongue along him, grunting when Bane’s hips rise up and he slides across his tongue. Soon he’s bobbing his head, pumping his hand, and hoping Bane will let him suck him off, wanting to taste him, wanting to swallow him down.

He doesn’t expect Bane to take hold of his collar instead, to grip it tightly in his hand and start pulling him down further, giving him time to breathe in before he is forcing him to slowly take him in more, deeper. John swallows around him convulsively, the instinctive reaction only pulling him into his throat. A low groan from Bane reaches his ears and he feels so full of him, is almost sad when Bane guides him back up by the collar, not wanting it to stop even though his lungs are burning for air.

It’s only a quick breath before he’s back down, though, before Bane is using the collar to work him over his cock, fucking his throat with a careful finesse until John’s brain is fuzzy and his body overheated. He’s hard, now, too, his dick tenting the soft fabric of his pants, but that’s only something in the back of his mind. What he focuses on is the slow glide of Bane into him, the pleased rumble from him, the knowledge that he’s being good. He knows it, feels happy when he hears Bane murmur it roughly, the approval making him want to smile but his mouth is too full, he’s too full of Bane.

When Bane pulls him back and off of his cock, his mouth stays open and he pants rapidly, lungs eager for the fresh air even while his tongue flicks out to gather the sticky, heady taste Bane’s cock has left there. He eyes it while he’s held back, all deep red and wet from him.

“Please,” he groans it out hopefully, his throat sounding hoarse. He wants it filling him, wants Bane to feel good with him. A pull on his shoulders distracts him; Barsad is tugging him down and over for a kiss. He’s careful to not bump against his nose as he slots their lips together, lets Barsad lick greedily over his lips for a taste of Bane, the closest he can have to tasting him at the moment.

Bane soon has them lying side by side on the bed. He checks Barsad’s breathing carefully when he does it, not content until he’s certain that being on his back isn’t a problem. He pets over their bellies when he’s sure, scratches playfully, and John squirms for it, arches up with a soft cry when Bane fondles him, making the soft fabric slide tantalizingly across his cock.

“You are both being very good,” Bane praises, and John glows at it, turns his head towards Barsad and sees the smile gracing his lips while Bane strips their pants off slowly, takes his time and admires how they look on the bed, flushed and bare and collared for him.

“I need numbers from you both.”

“Three,” John blurts out without hesitation. He doesn’t want this to stop anytime soon. Bane pats his hip and Barsad is quieter, it takes Bane stroking his cheek, his nails scratching through his beard and a light pull at his collar before he’s able to get a ‘three’ out.

Bane makes a pleased noise and guides them closer together. For a moment, John wonders if he’s going to tie them together like this and his breath catches, the idea sending a rush of desire through him. Instead, he gets Bane’s mouth kissing just over his collar, his finger flicking across the tag and making the soft jingle of it reach his ears.

He wants them together so he can drive them both crazy together. He makes them keep their eyes open so they can watch what’s done to the other, anticipate it on their own skin. He’s patient, able to ignore the ache in his own cock if it means drawing out all of the want and desire in them both. He’s proven that enough times, and now is no exception. His hands pet everywhere, pinching at sensitive skin, nails scraping along their inner thighs. They both spread hopefully at that, knees bumping together and earning a low chuckle.

Bane doesn’t make them keep quiet; he wants them loud this time. He stops his game and tells Barsad ‘no’ sternly when he tries to bite his lip as Bane tongues over his nipple, catches the hard bit of flesh between his teeth and tugs it, making Barsad arch and grope for John’s hand. John digs his nails into the palm of Barsad’s hand in return when Bane’s lips brush over his navel, his tongue dipping into the ticklish skin there before a breath of cool air is blown over his damp skin.

When Bane is done playing, John feels like he could burst with just one touch to his flushed cock, just one. Those warm hands and teasing lips have undone him, have been making constant soft whines tear out of his throat. He’s trying to be patient, but patient is so much easier when he’s touching Bane and not being teased so cruelly. The touch never comes, not there, just everywhere else, and when he writhes too much it gets a reprimanding smack to his hip, making him jump and try to be still.

“S-sorry!” he yelps when he just can’t help another wriggle. Bane hadn’t even been touching him, but he’d been touching Barsad, and John is watching as Bane holds his lean thighs apart, sucks a dark purple bite against the crux of his thigh. Barsad’s eyes close tightly at the act and he shakes his head tightly, sucks in shallow breaths of air to keep still for Bane, doing a hell of a better job than John, but reaching the end of his abilities, too.

“ _Please_ ,” Barsad moans out when it’s clear he’s reached his limit, trying to reach for Bane, not to stop him but to touch him, needing the contact. Bane relents, leaving a final kiss to the soft, now bruised skin of Barsad’s thigh. He lets Barsad pull him close, listening to the quiet pleas and clearly treasuring them. John’s relieved when Bane lets him touch, too, brackets them both under him so they can take turns kissing him, holding onto his shoulders, touching his chest.

Bane rumbles contently over them and he looks so pleased that John has to kiss him more, pulling at him and making a content noise when he’s obliged. Bane is attentively kissing over his lips and making John open for him so he can explore his mouth, play with his tongue like he’s done countless times before now, but always steals his breath away.

“You have both been so good for me,” Bane says and pats his side thoughtfully. “I’m going to let you both pick what you’d like from me next. Whatever you would like.”

John blinks stupidly in surprise. That’s new; Bane’s offered to let John choose things before, but with the knowledge that it can be vetoed, and it’s usually in the beginning, not this late in the game, not when he can pick something like telling Bane he wants to come inside of his mouth or get fucked on his knees, and Barsad isn’t ever given the option. When John looks over to him, he looks uncertain what to even do with it.

Bane seems entertained by both of their bewildered looks. He caresses the back of his hand over John’s cheek slowly, giving his collar a tug as he explains, “It’s a treat, a reward for doing so well with something so new.”

“O-oh,” he nods shakily. It’s hard to think about what would be good. His brain is feeling sluggish and only seems content to supply him with the thought that Bane, Bane would be good, without giving further details even though it’s clear Bane is waiting for his answer.

It clicks after a moment, though, when he remembers the sudden surge of anticipation from his earlier thoughts, and his eyes go to the neat coils of rope they keep hanging on the bedroom door now. Bane follows his gaze and laughs quietly, making John push at his chest a little and flush. He doesn’t care, though, not if he’ll do it.

“If that is what you want from me.”

“Fuck yes,” he mumbles out happily, and when Bane doesn’t move him any way in particular, he decides to take the initiative and put his hands over his head, hoping Bane will humor him. He does, and John sighs at the now familiar feeling of cool, smooth rope circling around his wrists, each loop careful and precise until they’re bound together, and then to one of the rungs of the bed frame.

“Can I have my legs?” he asks hopefully when Bane reaches for his ankle, knowing he’s probably pushing this ‘treat,’ but he wants to be able to hold onto Bane in some way. Bane stops, though, pats his leg before he parts his thighs more, settles between them and gives his collar a light pull. Barsad turns onto his side slowly and watches enviously when Bane reaches for their lubricant. Bane pauses to kiss his brow when he rests his head against John’s chest.

“Be thinking of what you want, lamb.”

Barsad looks less sure of that but nods, kisses John’s chest and settles in there while Bane makes John shudder by tracing a wetted finger slowly across his opening, a playful tease before he works lubricant into him. He can’t help gripping down greedily onto his fingers, a low cry of pleasure leaving him when they twist and drag over his nerves, making him throb inside. Barsad pats his stomach at the whine that leaves him when Bane’s fingers slip from out of his worked opened hole, then he scoots back slightly to lay his head on the bed and watch, both of them well versed in how Bane likes to press up tightly against one of them when they’re on their backs.

This is no exception, and his body tightens in anticipation no matter how much he tries to loosen it when Bane reaches down between them and takes hold of himself. There’s no warning, just a kiss to the skin just above his collar as he moves over him, pushes himself in with a steady, forceful push that is too good to hurt.

“Oh fuck!” he grunts out, Bane’s weight crushing him into the bed, his shoulders burning from the pull of the rope, his breathing choked from the pressure that he doesn’t want to let up, the stretch of Bane inside of him and how deep he is, how full he makes him feel.

He pushes with his hips, wrapping his knees around him, desperate for every bit of touch he can get. A small part of him worries about Bane’s ribs, but Bane is pressing back just as much and doesn’t seem to be bothered, so he lets the thought go. Now he almost wishes he hadn’t asked for the rope; he wants to touch more, but at the same time now he’s helpless and bound, unable to do anything but try to rock his ass up at Bane, cry out for more, and that’s what the ties are about—giving himself over. So he does. He relishes how Bane’s hips smack against his thighs with enough force to drive him into the mattress, pleasure aching deep inside and lighting up the nerves on his cock as it’s trapped between their bellies.

“That’s my good boy,” Bane rumbles out against his neck, and John pushes up with his chest, tries to press as tightly as he can to him, to be as good of a boy as he can be for Bane. “Do you want to come for me?”

He nods with a low whine, a litany of tangled up ‘yes’s and ‘please’s spilling out from his lips.

Bane’s chuckles and it vibrates against the hollow behind his ear. “Can you like this, my boy? Just from the feeling of being filled by me, of belonging to me to do with as I please?”

If that’s what Bane wants… If that’s what he wants, John wants to try. He nods and bites his lip, groaning out when Bane pushes his thighs so they’re pressed to his chest, the stretch burning the muscle there, but he can feel him more, now, deeper, faster, his cock dragging against his prostate, and it’s almost enough. He can almost feel that throb in his belly ready to spill out, but he’s teetering and he needs a push.

“B-Bane, please!” He bites into his bottom lip, not sure what exactly he’s asking for, but Bane knows how to take care of him, he knows, and John trusts that he can make him tip.

It turns out that that tipping point is Bane’s hand on his collar, it’s the one sharp yank that jolts his whole body forward even while he’s pinned under Bane’s weight, it’s Bane’s low growl of ‘ _mine_ ’ in his ear. It’s perfect and it’s so good it hurts when it tears through him, sharp and enough to make him shudder, his hands clenching up into tight fists, able to do little else but let go and feel Bane’s hips move faster, a bit rougher as he comes with him, fingers still holding onto his collar tightly.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” John breathes out when Bane slips out of him, helps him lower his thighs slowly, patting his hip.

He makes a noise of complaint when he hears Bane’s soft chuckle, but he’s feeling too sweaty and fucked out to say much else. He closes his eyes, sighing at the kiss on his brow, the gentle brush of soaked bangs away from his forehead.

“I’m going to keep you just like this while I see to my lamb.”


	6. Chapter 6

John hums contently at that, mumbling out a quiet ‘kay’ and getting a fond hair tousle for it. It takes a squirm or two for him to adjust, to get comfortable while he turns his head a bit so he can see Barsad with Bane, his hair being carded through and his eyes closing contently at the action.

“You had plenty of time to decide,” Bane points out gently when Barsad still doesn’t seem to have an answer for him. This isn’t his usual, at all. Barsad unbound takes what he wants, demands it with a smirk on his face knowing that he’ll happily get it. Barsad roped up for Bane begs, pleads, or takes whatever is given with gratefulness because Bane will know exactly what to give him. Barsad doesn’t just ask for things. It’s not what he does, and the idea seems to have made him shyer at the thought of verbally asking for what he’d like.

John is pretty sure that’s the idea. Bane knows Barsad so well that at times it has to be overwhelming for the smaller man, for Bane to be able to know exactly how to slowly draw him out of whatever zone of comfort he’s in, to make something new and different even after so long together that he’s squirming slightly against him on the bed.

“You pick,” he finally says quietly. “I want you to.”

Bane seems to have expected it. “No, lamb, you need to choose something.” He tugs lightly at his collar when Barsad makes a frustrated noise, pulling him up close and kisses lightly over his ear. “I know you want something from me, lamb. I know you can think of what you’d like, so ask me for it.”

His eyes glance over towards John and then back to Bane before he shakes his head slightly. “I don’t _know_ ,” he says roughly, sounding self-conscious and frustrated with himself, like he wants to please Bane but can’t bring himself to do it. Bane runs his fingers through his beard, scratching his chin slightly to make him relax.

“Then I suppose I will have your body to play with until you do know,” Bane tells him, and there’s a hint of mischief in his tone, something that tells John that Barsad is going to both regret and love his inability to choose.

Bane pulls him into his lap, facing outward with his back tucked against Bane’s chest as he runs his hands down his body. It’s the same teasing from earlier, but it’s focused entirely on Barsad, nails scraping down his chest, little pinches and a tug or two at his nipples until he’s biting his lip and squirming in Bane’s lap, stilled by a smack to his side that echoes in the air.

“Not a sound, not a twitch.” Bane kisses his ear after he whispers the words into it. “The only thing you have my permission to do is ask for what you would like.”

Bane clicks his tongue in disapproval at the low whine his words get, squeezes Barsad’s hips until he bites it back with an apologetic sound. It’s an impossible task he’s been given, and they all know it, but he tries to earnestly, gasping and jolting when Bane’s fingers tickle against the underside of his cock, trace slowly across his balls. Each movement gets a slap to the hip, each noise a disapproving click of Bane’s tongue until Barsad’s cock is leaking down steadily, the slippery precome getting stroked onto his skin with a light touch that makes Barsad break, bring his hands up to bury his face in them.

“Bane, Bane, I can’t!”  He sounds choked up, like he’s going to shatter apart if Bane doesn’t stop tormenting him.

“You know what to do, my lamb,” he coaxes quietly, sweeping his fingers up his cock slowly and making him arc into the touch, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat now. “Ask for what you would like.” When Barsad starts panting, he rubs across his chest encouragingly. “You must have a favorite way. Something that you particularly like.”

A rougher squeeze to his cock has Barsad shouting hoarsely, shuddering and reaching to grab Bane’s arms, not to stop him, but to anchor himself.

“What is it my lamb? Tell me,” he encourages more, and Barsad bites his lip, speaking in a rush.

“Your mouth, y-your tongue inside,” he admits so quickly that John almost doesn’t catch it, but Bane has no trouble.

“Is that your favorite way?” Bane’s lips are curved into a smile, seeming surprised, like he finds it precious that Barsad’s favorite would be something so intimate and vulnerable. Barsad looks embarrassed over the confession but nods, relaxes when Bane makes a noise of approval and guides him to lie down on the bed beside John.

“Good, lamb,” he murmurs the soft praise as he pats his hip and scoots his thighs apart, makes Barsad take hold of them so he’s easy-access, open and exposed for him when he slides down on the bed. A slow lick of his tongue makes Barsad’s breath catch as he trails it across his entrance. Bane growls in response to it and laps across Barsad’s opening, making the smaller man squirm and moan, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. John wishes for a moment he had his hands free so that he can run his fingers through his hair, tease him a little, because he looks so fucking blissful over having Bane rimming him.

Bane doesn’t stop until Barsad’s hole is soaked, until he cups his ass and helps him spread more, pushes his tongue into him with a lurid chuckle at the low whine his action gets.

A wet kiss against the sensitive skin there makes Barsad shudder. John knows from experience that Bane’s lips rubbing there is mind-blowingly good, that when Bane asks Barsad if it’s exactly what he wanted that his breath, the rush of heated air there is sending a tingle down his spine.

Bane gives another kiss before he talks again. “You are both so sensitive here. Both of you love being filled up by me so much. John was able to come from only the feeling of being taken here; I wonder if my lamb can be undone with only my tongue.”

It’s only a moment before Bane is pushing his tongue into him with deep, wet strokes that John can’t see but can sure hear, can see how Barsad’s eyes snap open and then lid again. He can’t keep his hips still as his hands go to the sheets, gripping as he pushes himself back at Bane’s tongue shamelessly, his thighs tensing and quivering at the strain.

He can’t even do that, soon. Bane eventually hooks his legs over his shoulders, makes him bend so he’s nearly doubled in half, barely able to squirm as Bane drives his tongue into him relentlessly, only stopping to encourage him, to growl low in his throat, something that has to be vibrating out against Barsad and making him even more of a mess.

“Go on, lamb, come for me,” Bane says before he licks again, his eyes dark and possessive as he watches all of Barsad’s movements, takes in each needy cry and moan he’s given. “Let go.”

Barsad is trying, he’s trying so hard, and John can feel for him, how badly he wants it to be enough, how he won’t ever ask for more than what he’s getting now because this is what Bane wants, and he wants so badly to give it to him, to please him.

The noises he’s making now are almost heartbreaking, so full of want, so certain that he’ll be kept at this edge for forever as Bane licks into him endlessly. His thighs are wet now, and his fingers are digging so tightly into the bedding that John wonders if he’s going to rip right through it.

“Lamb,” Bane’s voice is so low it’s barely a rasp, and he whispers the endearment out roughly, bites down sharply against the taut skin of Barsad’s ass, flicking his tongue across his hole. “You’re going to come for me, lamb.” It’s an order, and John can see Barsad’s body tightening, ready to obey. “Right _now_.”

His words are punctuated with a filthy slurp against Barsad’s entrance, Bane’s tongue driving in hard again when Barsad keens sharply, his orgasm quaking through him and making his head snap back against the bed while Bane holds him still through it, kissing the curve of his ass tenderly and rubbing his thighs until Barsad is gasping for air, licking over his dry lips.

“Good.”

The simple praise gets the most relieved and tired of smiles from Barsad as his legs are lowered back down.

Once he’s untied, John rubs his wrists for a moment before he wraps around Barsad, kissing him carefully. “You looked fucking amazing,” he whispers and nuzzles across his throat, tasting a bit of sweat against his lips. “Really good.”

Barsad just makes a tired noise, and when Bane leaves the room to get some towels to clean up with along with something to drink, with a promise that he’ll be right back, he’s sitting up quickly, eyes wider, but John pulls him closer like when Barsad is tied and needs to know he’s not alone. He traces over the collar curiously, not having had a chance to touch it before, or even his own. Barsad closes his eyes and relaxes against the touch, reaching hesitantly to do the same to his.

“Like it?” John asks quietly, not sure if he’ll get an honest answer even with Barsad in a different sort of headspace with it on.

Barsad just hums contently and pulls a little on his, a small, secretive smile on his lips.

John’s pretty sure it’s a yes, and he can’t help but smile back a little, laughing quietly when Barsad kisses him affectionately again and he returns it, can’t help but feel more playful after a good session and feeling Bane’s ownership along his neck still. Bane chuckles fondly when he finds them tangled up in each other, Barsad playing with his hair and John kissing across his jaw. He cleans them up and has them kneel again.

He’s sorry to feel the collar go, but knows it’s not exactly something he can wear full-time, not unless he ends up wanting to wear a coat full-time to hide it while he’s out. The thought of doing so sends a bit of a shiver down his spine, and Bane’s hands rub his neck, checking for chafing and seeming satisfied before he lets him go.

Barsad whines softly when his is taken, his eyes going from open and soft to more guarded when Bane rubs his throat. John’s been in a couple of intense sessions with him, where after a bad day and a hard tie he’s been surly right after he’s been let loose, rather than his usual relaxed after-state, and he wonders if this will be like that. Bane strokes through his hair, though, and squeezes his shoulders.

“You were very good, Barsad. There’s no shame in enjoying that, is there?”

It’s apparently the right thing to say, because Barsad surrenders at that, lets Bane pull him into an embrace with John before he lays them both down onto the bed. Barsad goes loose and pliant again, how he usually is after a session, sleepy and relaxed, and John can admit when he’s feeling the same way, downright cuddly.

“Do not think,” Barsad finally mumbles, his face tucked into Bane’s chest as much as his sore nose will allow, “that I will be doing that again.”

Bane only chuckles fondly and squeezes the back of his neck. “You only have to tell me no. Otherwise, I may have to see what it would be like to take you out like that one day, with your pretty collar around your throat and hidden away under your scarf.”

John watches as Barsad goes still and doesn’t answer for a long moment before he speaks.

“I would fight you,” he mutters finally.

“And I would not have it any other way,” Bane tells him happily, earning an annoyed swat and a grumble.

“Not next time,” Barsad finally says, and it’s more his regular tone, the one that he uses when he has no doubt he’ll get when he wants. He flicks his eyes over at John and smirks suddenly, “Next time I would like it to be just our boy in his pretty collar.”

John swallows hard at that and bites back a shiver.

“I think,” Bane says with amusement, “that that is something we can all agree on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://relevantlyirreverent.tumblr.com/
> 
> As always, thank you for all of your comments and kudos!


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